Warning: If you don't like a violent Kyoya or abhor explicit stuff, don't read this story.

A melancholic adoration.

– my Ouran version of 'your torture was meant to be love'

By Kat ti!

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran or any characters.

The wind shifts course and the track of my tears is altered. My heartbeat is erratic under my cyan suit. It sets in an uneasy rhythm, thump thump dee thump, giving rise to squally winds. I can hear him calling my name "Haruhi! Haruhi!" It melts into nothingness as time progresses. I can feel the curve of the black hole reaching me, sucking hard from the depths of the vacuum. My feelings are nothing but a curtain, hiding me from various austere elements that carve a hollow in my soul in the long run. I swallow hard, but the elongated lump sealed with an engraved wax remained stubbornly lodged against streams of breath through my larynx.

There is a little traditional pavilion situated north of the hilltop. I creep in. The rose vines scratch my already bruised skin; I watch it bleed a drop at a time. The surface hurt proves to be a temporary soothing remedy for my numbing ache. Winter is on his way, laughing with companion Jack Frost; the hills ooze, the sky evaporates; life slows down. Around me, the birds begin to sing; a farewell in lieu of the coming migration. The robins, orioles and canaries flutter beneath the awning and chirp. Their quivering wings draw close to me- so near I can catch the motion of little heartbeats upon swollen breasts. They are not afraid of me, and circle my head, unable to sense my dire fear. "Stop! Please stop singing, I beg you. He'll find me."My feeble attempt to silence them is wasted. Instead, my hands fly to my ears, to block the offending twitters, as if I can control the volume of the world. I need silence. I need to escape. I need to break away from my senseless reverie.

"There you are." The voice, sleek and gentle, I've been dreading to hear finds me. I know he will. He is like a ravenous hyena and you, a helpless antelope. Once he sets his sight, you will never be able to escape from his clutches. No one gets by Kyoya Otori. "It's time to return."

The slender smooth hand slides out, offering assistance. My arms are pinned to either sides of me, frozen. My eyes fix hell wards. I don't blink; my sockets are bulging strenuously. Helplessness bellow harmless war cries from my oesophagus. The reverberating echoes are held back the netted wires of my suppressing sobs. A tell-tale tear flows from my eye, streaking down the contours of cheekbones and maneuvers off the tippy chin; like a snow flake titling down a mountain with a wooly head of snow.

In my crouching position, I watch caravans of ants parading at the foot of a pillar. My misty eyes never leave them. Time passes by; the clock hands ticking by secondly and minutely. Patience forsakes Kyoya Senpai, the way a corrupted scholar is sent to exile, back to the valleys of nothingness. I count each second. Seven hundred and fifty four.

Behind those clear glasses, his astute eyes don't even twitch. He has no need to falter, after all he knows I will return to him and beg for forgiveness in my tormented state. I don't. And I won't. A part of me yearns for him, so much it becomes part of my daily diet; my main course. I drink him like child drinks milk. No, I will not crawl back to him. Never, I decide. Waiting is thinning him. An exfoliating rock peeling layers after layers as time progresses. Where I am, I am winning. The beam of victory smirks ahead of me, and I can feel it's warm rays reaching out to claim me.

Kyoya places a hand on the nape of my neck. His breath tickles my skin. Recognizing it, this haze of languor is a disguise is a disguise for his dark eyes probing me. Suddenly, he speaks "Misbehavior means punishment".

I know. I know.

But I still stay still. Awaiting the gallows of looming death.

Soon, I feel it. Hard, resounding and demanding for respect. The slap brought by a swift action of the hand makes my stomach woozy; the sharp ache embeds deep in the dark pits builds up like cube building blocks. Haruhi wants more. Only when my ears ring from constant abuse and continuous waterfalls of scarlet bathe me then I am satisfied; my jar fully filled.

"More senpai" I voluntarily groan out. "Please I want more of you."

Through my half-lidded eyes, I see that his face registers no surprise; only joy. Joy over victory, he has clinched the trophy that should have belonged to me. The ghost of a smile flickered wanly as he shoves me face-first onto the floor.

He roughly tugs at my belt and pulls my pants down, stopping at the sight of lacy knickers in a comfortable shade of maroon. I have taken to wearing them, since he once said that lace was sensual. I am no more than a toy; damned Barbie he temporarily fancies playing with. He can dress me in whatever frocks he pleases, I will comply. If it is wrong to love you, please don't let my heart be right. The sun slides off Kyoya's body. My source of warm disappears. I dread the day he will cast me aside, his gruff kisses will never tear my cheeks again. The lane of my thoughts shifts as he tears into me, thrusting the hardest he can. The familiar feeling of being torn into two fits me like a glove. My unbridled cries are his wet dreams.

I scream for him and I know he is satisfied. My lover is in a place I can't get joy. He begins proffering the hills on my chest after tearing the blouse open. The purple bruises turn indigo as he becomes rougher. An inch above my left breast there is a healing gash, wounds stitched in delicate crosses; a result of hours of biting. Additionally, my once broken wrist is an aftermath of contact among human bone, the shaft of a golf putter and a great amount of strength. I remember treating it as a souvenir of our courtship period, or simply saying, being together.

Kyoya slides in and out of me, pumping in musing frenzy. His thickened breath is quickening as fast as my heart palpitations. Around me, colors jostle and furrow, spreading out and contouring. My face is slammed to the ground; when I lift it, my nose bleeds a fountain of scarlet. Lack of oxygen prevents me from thinking straight. I draw in a deep breath- only to have blood violently retched back down the nasal passages and countless of dust devils finding homes in my nose. Dust devils are a sign of life, Daddy used to say. But while I think about it, oxygen is what keeps us alive and our souls in place.

All of a sudden, Kyoya moans as if he is in his death throes and drenches me in ecstasy. That isn't so hard today; a voice in my head calls out without warning. Dusk is settling in and the cicadas sing in response. A brass fire ignites in me as I pluck up courage to search his face for expressions- smile or frowns. The ends of his perfect mouth curl up signifying I have done well. Elatedness wells up and I fill my empty jar with it, but only till half-full; I dare not hope for more.

"Good girl." He smiles again and tucks the pointed part of his school shirt into his trousers. He is so beautiful, my boy, I think. Those two words are hot treacle pudding topped in my dish of cold bland appetizers.

My pants accumulate into a pool knee-wise. I don't fix my glaze somewhere else for I might miss an emotion he displays. I watch his every move, soaking them in. My reward is served to me shortly. Kyoya straightens his tie first, and then puts his hand between my thighs. Almost before I can give another throaty groan, he curls his fingers out. They drip with his previous release. The agile serpents vanquish with a lingering trace; I'm still throbbing from his touch.

Azure floods the sky. Dusk is settling in. It is late but I enjoy my private moments with Kyoya. He plays with my lips for a bit, then slips the tainted fingers into my mouth. I delight much at his contact, although at times humiliated at my despair for him. I lick hungrily; I am now the hyena and my senior, a prey. We have been switching roles many a time too often, the dramatic acting is as engaging as a high end kabuki play. The salty taste; the flavor of sweet dew at dawn, flows down my throat, diluted with saliva.

"You know I love you, Haruhi." He says drawing his hand away.

Of course, you do. I am well aware of that so I nod as a matter-of-factly, my bangs swishing and absorb the blood like a sponge. He gets up and I eye him leaving the tiled shelter, a tad disappointed when he does not offer a lift. His confident strides and smug demur digs at me.

For a brief period of time, I cannot move. Excruciating pain pricks my nose and drills the soft mould between my legs. I lift hand to find out that a source of pain branches from my fingers. They are broken from Kyoya's convulsing pleasure. This time I dare to smile. Mission accomplished. Pain is pleasure, and injuries are gifts. God has answered my prayers.

I am the voodoo doll, and he is my master. He creates me, he molds me, he refines me, and I, obey.

Xoxoxo

Xoxoxo

Xoxoxoxo

My first encounter with the third young master of the Otori family was on the day high school opened his patented doors. The moment I set my sight on him, my heart leaps forth propelled by sturdy hind legs. To many girls, Kyoya senpai is an object of desire; not as large a concupiscence as Tamaki senpai – whose mesmerizing aura streaks flourish far. His incontrovertible nature captivates my heart, like a young warrior enthralling pubescent maidens. He is a rare jade who prides himself on achievements- something certain people do not bother much about. Every time the host club encountered troubles, Kyoya strides over with liberal composition and handles it with a swagger of a head.

However to me, I treat him like a prized lacquer chest, feeding him with my darkest secrets and esoteric troubles. He listens, while I snuggle into his inviting warm embrace. "As long as I'm here with you, you needn't be afraid of anything". I place my trust in him, and he returns it in mutilated happiness.

One fine day, the glorified host club decided to have a short vacation at an offshore beach. Instantly, I cheered at the endless dunes of golden sand and simultaneous laps of waves kissing my blistered soles. The receding horizon calmed my nerves; the presence of six beautiful boys was overwhelming. But I had my gaze on one. Soon, the sea swallowed the spooning amber sun and evening arrived. In the eruption of red and gold, I saw his tousled black hair and lean frame and wished upon an invisible shooting star, I would be his.

My wish was fulfilled shortly.

At night, the last morsel of partially-digested crab passed my swollen lip. The most contradictory emotions caught up with my pace and started to slow me down. I left the bathroom and chanced on the boy I have fallen in love with. Everything happened in a whirl of confusion. My mind wasn't working at the speed limit to fathom what was occurring.

I sense that something was about to happen, and it was too late to flee. My body was pinned under him, and the rest of myself- my hopes, my dreams and passion I lay them down too.

"Have you been kissed?" he asked in a questioning tone, like a police officer interrogating a criminal.

Fortunately in my state of unease, I am capable of managing "N-No. Not really." Technically I've been snogged, but kissing a girl is literally not kissing.

Kyoya took me in his arms and his tongue probed my mouth languidly. Action speaks louder than words.

His tongue, with a hint of spearmint, sifted through my teeth then mingles with my tongue, intertwining it as if we were one. And I was afraid he would taste vile in my mouth.

"Undress me" he commanded.

I fumbled with his belt, my hands trembling for the monster that awoke in him. In the dark, the room was merely lilted by a lone beam of moonlight that slanted through panels. Without his glasses, I was only a hazy circle of grey. He was too, an unidentified outline. My skin bristled with bashful indignant when he pushed up my skirt and tore at my panties. I blushed at our nudity, but the effect was lost in black surroundings.

I let him fondle and caress me in all my secret places. His hands are insidious vines creeping into my private garden. The jolt of panic I had expected to never surface. Kyoya had lamented that with him around, I need not fear anything. He is my strength.

Initially it hurt. Something thick and of an iodine stench dripped down my legs. My voice, a distant scream shattered the silence hung like a cloak levitating above us. Still, he didn't stop. It will go away soon, I told myself. Kyoya slid against my body, whispering instructions. I imitated what he did and secretly hoped that it added to his ecstasy. He was trembling and peculiarly tense. His cheeks redden and sweat droplets embroidered on his brows. Grimace was a sign of enjoyment, I noted.

The pain gave way to pleasure and my head shook rhythmically to our vigorous moves. "More" I cried over this undeserved happiness, this little corner of my love in my lonely life. "More" is a word I often mutter during sessions with Kyoya. He was someone I couldn't get enough of.

A question shot up, like a budding bean sprout edging its way to the sun. Was this what love-making is?

I envisaged exuberance in rapture when Kyoya murmured "Haruhi, you're my woman now". The door with apertures of horses swung open to display a distressed Tamaki. He gawked, horrified and collapsed as if he was a fragile flower uprooted by a storm and laid at the foot of my altar.

"K-K-Kyoya you…" From his throat an estranged groan cried out. I leaned closer to Kyoya and tightened my arms around his waist.

A hole in my chest started its formation.

Xoxoxox

Xoxoxoxo

That day onwards, I could never look at Tamaki senpai in the eye. I avoided his regard of betrayal, anxiety and unwanted affection. Formalities began too. When his sleeve brushed my arm, he bowed his head, similar to a puppy after being scolded by his master. Sometimes, he arrived in school with red-trimmed eyes and fresh eyebags. My eyes were equally swollen with newfound apology to myself and the people I've upset.

In Ouran High, eyes were constantly spying, ears constantly listening. I knew why I was treated to mysterious smiles expressing irony and envy from the girls. As for the boys, those who didn't believe in mutual caresses between same sexes participants avoided me like plague. Word had spread like wildfire that I was a couple with senior Otori. A feeling of pride blended with a tincture of prodding sorrow engulfed me. Do they know what I was going through? Would the girls be willing to take a bit of me in exchange for going out with Kyoya?

The relationship Kyoya and I shared wasn't as smooth sailing as the dance forming in my head. Whenever Daddy stayed over at the bar, I laid in Kyoya's Egyptian thousand sheet bed while he devoured me. Feelings never lied. I was pleased with his direct attention and longed for more. However Sex proved to be a bored mountain wanderer winding down a lonely path. Tiresome and forlorn. Love became mundane and as tasteless as a glass of plain water. He needed red wine. Something more intense to curb his lust.

During our usual love making, he spits at me like a fury and rains blows on me. My stream of tears fuels his driven ambition. He smiles when I cry in pain and seem to strokes my cheeks after his moment of pleasant insanity. The pain from his strikes becomes numb as time floated past. When the strength in him has debilitated, then he collapses on me in a demoralized manner, cutting off a large percentage of my oxygen supply. At times, he will curb my face in his palms as soft as dove wings and beg me to kiss him. I do.

When he takes me in the deserted garden, I feel the wind on my shoulder stared hard at the sky- a faithful reflection of life and prayed that Kyoya's attention be diverted to something less harsh and yielding. In my head I recall Empress Wu's speech, Tonight, somewhere in our empire, innocent blood is flowing.

Sometime pleasure gushes like overheated thermal spring water starting from between my legs, sometimes pains rasp their screechy silent song out. I am an aspirant who can guise my feelings well, and I treat these hurt as joy. There are many mature shops lining every lane of Tokyo selling kinky items, but few protectoral ones. Love making seems to be a favorite past time in Japan, and I'm sure also the world. Nonetheless, has anyone no concern that a moment of rashes and half an hour of ecstasy- the lubricated feeling of slipping and out, and the throbbing feeling in your lower part that makes you moan for more- may result in producing a new life and sculpting a new soul? The board of government desperately wants citizens to have more children to counteract with the aging population and the irony lies in that abortion rates are on the run. I am never comfortable with the second choice.

The last time we did it was in the Year 3 chemistry lab- our favorite haunts also include the male lavatory on the second level, the Kendo dojo where the waning light slants through paper panels, by the swimming pool under Mother Mary's watchful eyes; the pasty bubbles rising and popping like partners in copulation made me smile and of course, music room three shortly after everyone had left. Kyoya had made me go down on my knees and do what he wanted. I grit and bare it all, and too said immaculate thing in a voice that rubbed against him like a cat. While he was halfway doing business with me on the wall, a fistful of my hair bunched up in his clench fist, we heard senior Hani's syrupy voice waft from the keyhole. Kyoya pulled himself out of me and pined me to the wall, our bodies hidden in the shadows.

The conversation between him and Mori, I guessed from the deep "uhm" of agreements and lack of words, was muffled. I only caught a handful of words, tamaki, worried, upset, strange and Haru, my name. From my shoved up position, I saw that Kyoya's face registered infuriation; I was afraid at the things he would do to me after senior Hani had linked me and that libertine together. My insides grimaced in uneasiness and furled up in a ball.

As soon as the voices left us as fast as I willed them to, tension hung despondently like the thick ashen tent curtains in the lab. I closed my eyes in hopes for peace. The crashing sound of beakers breaking smashed my tranquility but my eyes remained shut. I tried to breathe as soft as I can, but due to fear, it only came out in heavy jagged strokes.

When jarring acute pain shot through in ascending motion my legs, my thighs, my stomach, my arms, and he finished with me by flipping me over and sent armies of pain to invade my back. My body felt oddly warm and I knew I was bleeding. When my eyes fluttered open, I saw 'Tamaki' tattooed all over on me. They opened long enough to watch Kyoya tugging on his pants with a bleeding hand, the glass must have cut him. Rage empowered me, how could the glass cut him? Did they not know Kyoya is the son of one of the most influential man is Japan? Instead of hurting someone so imbecile, they should use the time to bow down to him and scheme on ways to serve him with all their glassy hearts.

"Since you prefer Tamaki so much, the engraftment is my gift is you." He'd said before tossing my clothes at my face, as if I was a geisha he borrowed for a night.

I smiled ruefully for I sensed that Kyoya is jealous. He still cares for me.

But I know, these little torture methods are prerequisites he set and his torture is meant to be love.

I feel so lucky.

The violence erases itself from my memory, and only his astonishing beauty remained to obsess me. My life becomes more unbearable than before I knew him. I dismissed his brusque attitude with a flick of a handkerchief. The point he set a foot in my life, he is indispensible.

Once I feigned sick for a week to distance myself from him. Alas, absence – a wily old magician with brooding tricks shoved up his sleeve- turned my aversion to desire, a keen pulsating desire which transcends everything. My classmates were walking wounds. I vented my anger on the Hitachin brothers when they questioned my bruises. I wept how unlucky I am to have encountered so many accidents- falls, bicycle crashes and cooking injuries slides easily through my lips. It shows how callous a human heart can be, so harassed the world spinning like a satellite can malfunction any time.

Day by day, after I return home from a day's worth of activities in school and playtime with Kyoya senpai, a long night of sliding down into the slippery sucking abyss of self-pity. There was no way to drag myself out.

When the hint of dawn appears, birds launch themselves in pursuit of the sun, crickets fled the light, tucking their fiddles away after calling it a day. I shut my eyes tight in anticipation, fearful of what the day brings me on a wooden peasant plate. The thick sheets of my futon do not aid in hiding my cowering fears; shell-shocked and slightly demented I run my largest scissors through the fluffy cotton and grin at the snow-white bloat drifting in the room and littering the ground like a blanket of sea foam.

In a gripe of madness, I hear an echoing voice. A resonant ring to it, with somewhat androgynous. "the scissors. Take it and do what I say. All your torment will end." Leering faces with malleable jaws that jutted forward decorated the walls surrounding me. The swirls of twisted faces sickened me; contorted truths clawing at the ends of my heart and take control of my heartbeat.

My hands reach for the handles, coming closing an inch at a time. My fingers almost close around the clear cool metal. A hook in my abdomen jerks me backwards. Bile rises like hot air rising. And I retch. For the past week, I have been vomiting each morning. I crave for preserved plums and poached scallops. In the shower, I notice my swelling breasts, milky radiance skin and a mountain threatening to form on my stomach before I engage in my daily routine of counting my Kyoya-inflicted bruises and cuts.

Today's a Thursday. I automatically march myself up to Kyoya and tell him my suspicions. He treats it like a mortal poision, the first draught shoots spears internally. I zip up after that and we both keep silent for a while. He hestistates before saying "After club activities, I'll send you to doctor. Right now you shut your mouth about this matter."

A common practice I do is to compel with him. Yes senpai. Seeing that no one is around, I link my arm around his and whisper "I belong with you."

The fragile harmony shatters and Kyoya's smile no longer brightens my heart. In response, he twists my arm out and continues writing in the leather bound planner. To be ignored is killing me softly.

You know that your fairytale ending is going to be abrupt and stormy when things take for the wrong turn. Friday whizzes by and the report comes. It lays in my hands, unmoving. Kyoya is seated next to me. Finally, he snatches it from my hands and his eyes scan paragraphs after paragraphs. I bite my nails nervously, not caring if the habit stirs up some abhorrence in Kyoya.

His words quaver in the limo, as white as a shroud: "Bad news first, then good news. Bad news: Congratulations, you will be expecting a baby boy. The other is that I gather you will be making an abortion trip today."

I gasp but he doesn't hear it.

Engine starts after some instructions and the vehicle is almost instantly transported to the far end of Tokyo where a shabby clinic stands.

No, I shake my head. I want to melt into labyrinths of passageways and disappear in the tangle of gardens. Inside, a voice screeches, why are you doing this to me?

He crosses his arms and cocks his head. "The boy or me?"

I keep sobbing, he doesn't care.

"Hurry!" Kyoya insist. My tear glands are malfunctioning; they won't stop their plumbing.

I look into his eyes, they are mirrors, the color of black pearls, of me. In them, I see loathe, desperateness and most of all, fear embedded in dazzling intelligence. The fact that he possess feelings like that scares me a lot.

Me and my unborn boy weep for Kyoya. His heart beats inside of me. I cannot lose him. I belong with him.

000

000

000

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Author's note: hey hey hey!! How do you find this story? I've ended it with a cliffhanger. Part 2 explains everything. I've always liked to write fanfics from a new angle, and this is a tad twisted. What you read may not be the truth.

My one shot became like a three shot thingy…

I understand that Haruhi's attitude is kind of despondent, but when you are in love, you do foolish things.

What I meant by my Ouran version is that I am doing some storyline like this for another ff too- tenchu, the awesomest game ever; well everybody has Jason Fox and pal geekish tendencies.

Review if you please!!! (Though I am used to few responses. Wahhhh…) :- ( For the sake of my hard work.

Anyway…Guess who Haruhi chose?